


Trigger Words

by Emono



Series: Monsters-R-Us [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Bloodplay, Curb stomping, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Emono Does Halloween Right, First Kiss, First Time, Gore, Halloween, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Murder, Psychoteeth, Rimming, Serial Killers, Smut, Violence, Virginity Kink, Voyeurism, murder boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joel was the mastermind, Michael was the fire, murder was their game, and they were in love from start to finish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chooboozle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chooboozle/gifts).



Michael had a lot of trigger words.

 

“ _Faggot_.”

 

The term had been spat with a smirking, casual venom that only came with regular use. It had been shot off by some douchebag who'd been eyeing them since they'd walked in to the roadside diner. The guy had taken one look at Michael – russet curls and pale skin, poured-whiskey eyes and almost delicate freckles, tight jeans and lush mouth – and the word had just popped out. What damned them all was the arm Joel had tossed along the boy's shoulders, the kiss he'd pressed to the apple of his cheek. Maybe the guy was repressed, maybe he was jealous. In the end it didn't matter what the cause was because the word was flung and it hit Michael square in the chest, along with the guy's shoulder when he'd passed him on the way out.

 

“Faggot,” Joel had echoed thoughtfully, putting on his shades.

 

“Faggot,” Michael huffed, swinging down at the ground for the third hit. This smack was wetter than the last, his target already shattered.

 

Michael had a lot of trigger words.

 

The headlights from the douchebag's car cut through the trees and into the clearing where Michael had delivered the first blow across the guy's back. The metal bat had _tinged_ off his shoulder blades and the impact had sent him sprawling into the brush. The pathetic blubbering and sobbing had cut off with a second blow to the head, bone and skin giving way to splatter blood across the boy's worn sneakers. Michael kept swinging until there was nothing left but mush and he was playing gold with brain matter more than he was doing any real damage.

 

Michael's slim chest heaved, sweat matting his curls and making his jeans stick harder to his skin. His lovely mouth was drawn back in a savage snarl, blood spattered across his clothes and pale skin. His muscles burned from the brief chase through the woods and the effort of taking him down. It was a delicious, familiar feeling. He felt powerful, the adrenaline burned more than fire in his veins. The hot splash of blood on his face, his hands...it was like being baptized.

 

Every time, without fail, he was born again.

 

“I'm not a God damn _faggot_ ,” Michael panted. “I'm what nightmares are made of. Fucking loser.”

 

He resisted the urge to spit on the cooling body and started back.

 

_~~_

 

Joel cracked a yawn as he leaned against the warm, rumbling car. The headlights lit up the street, the Mercedes parked long-wise to block the road. His baby purred like a kitten against the back of his legs. The heat from the car soaked into his leather jacket and kept the chill of the night away. The douchebag from the diner's car was wedged deep in a ditch and the front plowed deep into a tree trunk. They'd done well to chase the asshole down and pass him, his stunt driving training from his teenage years paying off as he raced past the guy and his shitty Dodge. The little red piece of crap was made of Styrofoam and hope. So when Joel swung his _real_ car to block the road the other guy went spinning trying to break and swung off into the ditch.

 

Then Michael had gotten out of the car with his bat and chased after him with all his rage radiating off his sweet, tight little body.

 

He tilted his head back and huffed, breath crystallizing and curling away into the night. The stars were beautiful this far out in the country. The trees that bordered the winding road were rich and and full with the last health of late summer. They were near Maine and the snow would come soon.

 

He thought of hunting with his boy in the snow like a pair of blood thirsty wolves. The bodies wouldn't be found for at least a month and the thought was appealing on it's own. He'd have to check their Master map, the paper riddled with 'x's with whole cities crossed out. Virginia was blocked out with a sharpie from when they'd met and hadn't been able to control their honeymoon phase. Michael's hair had been shorter back then, his own longer and much more wild.

 

 _Back before I discovered product_ , Joel mused as he stuffed his hand deep into his pockets. _He was so beautiful putting a gun to my head. God, I was head over heels from the start, wasn't I? Never stood a chance with that gorgeous little fucker._

 

There was a snap from the treeline. He whipped his revolver out of the hidden pocket of his jacket and aimed it well, bracing it on his other forearm to line up the perfect shot. But he quickly lowered it when he saw the person breaking through the branches, soaked in blood with a crimson-splattered bat over his shoulders.

 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Joel whistled, cocking his head as he openly admired his panting boyfriend, “Look at you. Did you get him good, baby?”

 

The bat clattered to the road and Michael stepped up, pressing their legs together. Joel caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting the boy's head from side to side to see the artful spray pattern and the blotchy color that was weaving in and our of his freckles. “Did you spit on him?”

 

“Of course not.” His tone wasn't nearly as petulant as he used to be.

 

Joel asked his usual questions. If he'd touched the guy, if he'd pulled his hair or stepped in his blood. They would both strip bare at the nearest motel, bag their clothes and bury or burn them. Bleach the bat, trash it, do their classic routine.

 

Joel clicked his tongue. “This is the sixth this month, baby. Are you feeling antsy? You were quick to go after him. We went on a hunt Saturday.”

 

Michael was wordless but his nose scrunched up, a fine tremor going through his body. He smelled like someone else's fear and blood, sweat and metal, and unsatisfied. The boy was hard against his thigh and his hands, clad in those fingerless gloves he favored, were starting to claw at him. Joel could feel his bloodlust rising and he rocked into his boyfriend's hip, their height difference making itself know. All thoughts of germs and disease, usually at the forefront of his mind, left at the sight of his sweet little boy fresh from a kill.

 

Joel swiped his tongue along Michael's cheek and moaned at the coppery tang that washed over his taste buds. “You sexy little fuck. Strip.”

 

Michael was quick to obey after he'd watched the life leave someone's eyes or seen their delicate insides. They were out in the middle of nowhere and Joel was done giving a fuck, lust pulsing hot through his cock and clouding up his mind. As he watched the pile of Michael's clothes grow he decided that if anyone drove up to disturb him he'd put a bullet between their eyes. His boyfriend was piles of pale, freckled skin and smooth muscle, and the sight of him made him breathless even after the past gloriously bloody year.

 

When his boy was shivering and bare in front of him, breath clouding up in front of his pretty face, Joel eased up behind him and slipped his leather jacket over his shoulders. He'd have to burn it but he didn't mind, the buttery material a stunning contrast against Michael's flesh worth the sacrifice.

 

With the aid of the lube he always kept in his pocket, Joel bent his boy over the warm hood of the car and fucked into him with hard thrusts that made that generous ass bounce with each slap of his hips. He'd barely gotten his own jeans off enough to whip out his dick, the slick and Michael's eagerness easing the way. He was nice and tight around his cock and the leather felt good against his wandering palms. He waited until Michael started really moaning and humping against the too-hot metal before he grabbed a fistful of his hair.

 

“My little killer,” Joel huffed, bending the boy back until he could nip the shell of his ear, “I know what you need, baby.”

 

Michael breathed his name like a plea.

 

“Haven't I always been able to read you like a book? Ever since you found me stealing your kill, I know you've wanted someone to hone you.” He gave a particularly hard thrust that made the boy release a shuddering gasp. “To guide you and give that bloodlust some meaning.”

 

Michael swallowed thickly, knowing it was true, every breath full of his boyfriend's scent.

 

“Back when you were curb-stomping bullies and had the cops on your pretty ass all the time?” Joel grit his teeth just thinking about it, about how dangerously close they'd come to never meeting. “Back before I was there to protect you and you were a sloppy little twink.”

 

“Fuck you,” Michael rasped, the sound trialing off in a moan as the other picked up his pace.

 

“But I know you, and you need another trip, don't you? A big one.” Wrapped an arm around Michael's throat, pressing his forearm hard against his windpipe as he started fucking harder into his wet, grasping hole. “We'll head deeper into the woods, baby. We'll find a some college boys and their little sluts on break and we can take 'em all out.”  


Michael cranes his neck back, eyes wide and hopeful. “Fucking seriously, Joel? Can we?”

 

Joel smiled fondly and bit down on the boy's jumping pulse, drinking up his lustful cry like the sweetest wine. He'd smothered his Michael's fiery spirit with rules, buckled down his natural murderous nature with the firm straps of routine. They had yet to be caught. There had been some close ones but Joel was thorough and kept a leash on his enthusiastic brat, sometimes literally.

 

He'd never loved anyone like he loved Michael. He'd never shared this side of himself with anyone, let alone reveled in it. Traveling around, taking lives as they pleased, living off the fat of the land - what Michael could hustle in bars and what Joel could pickpocket. So he rarely let his sweetest little lover rampage how he often wanted, trying to inflict upon the world the pain he'd endured as a child from a rough stepdad and a few older brothers who saw him as a punching bag more than they ever did a sibling. Michael was never as beautiful nor as calm as he was after a kill. But the last two kills had come up with the same results – restless, still angry, still unsettled and unbalanced.

 

Killing a dumb herd of college kids? It must have felt like Christmas.

 

“You can kill 'em all, baby. I'll take care of everything and you'll just enjoy yourself.” Joel jerked his boyfriend's head back to look into his happy face, his big eyes. “And then afterward you'll be sweet for me again, won't you?”

 

“I will, Joel, I swear,” Michael promised sincerely, sounding so insanely young. “I'll show you how good I can be. I'll listen to all your stupid rules and I won't draw attention or mouth off.”

 

Joel nuzzled his hair, pushing in deep and savoring the way the other shivered between his solid weight and the stretch of the car hood. “I have the best boy.”

 

~~

 

They stretched out together on the ratty motel bed, their own sheets stretched out over the gross bedding that too often freaked Joel out too much to actually lay on. The pair was freshly showered, all their clothes from their jackets to their shoes in a trash bag in the corner. Michael's eyes were heavy lidded by his fingers played over his favorite butterfly knife. It was an impractical weapon but the boy seemed to love it so Joel allowed it to be used during their exursions. He tried to contain and channel his boyfriend, not chain him in.

 

Anyone who looked at Michael in this moment would think he was content and sleepy. But Joel knew that was his boy's contemplative look. The high of killing that douchebag had worn off, a junk food murder, and now he was planning out a main course. Joel didn't often give open permission like this and it seemed like his boyfriend was trying to figure out what would soothe his homicidal fire the most.

 

What method, what weapons...

 

“So methodical,” Joel muttered, half asleep and happy to watch his boy.

 

“He didn't suffer enough,” Michael muttered, digging the tip of blade into his thumb almost hard enough to break skin. “The next one's going to get it.”

 

“Yes they will, baby,” Joel yawned, tucking his face into his personal pillow, the one he sealed in plastic every night. “Yes they will.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. How It All Began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't always a loving pair of serial killers. Years ago, Michael was just a college student with a darkness inside him he couldn't explain. Joel was just a man looking for a soulmate. They danced around each other, hiding in the shadows, and one kill brings them together. This is how it all started. This was how they found each other when all seemed lost.

There had always been something inside Michael. His counselor in high school had called it “anger management problems” but he knew what it truly was. _Rage_. Pure and unadulterated. It had scared his parents off into being distant as he grew up. They seemed to just be ignoring him and counting the minutes until they could send him off to a nice college. Then came the threats of hospitalization for his “own good” and his step-dad stopped being so understanding. He'd grab Michael and shake him like a doll, smack him around and demand to know why he was so determind to ruin this family. His older brothers were quick to lead by example. Their real dad had been a piece of shit and Michael had never known him but his brothers had, and they weren't going to let the baby boy of the family sour their step-dad as well. To they got rough when their mom wasn't looking, pushing Michael around, trying to beat the rage out of the boy with their own fists. And he took every blow, knowing that if he struck back it would be the start of something bigger than he could control.

 

When the time came Michael relented and went out of state to campus that was bigger than his home town. He tried to bottle up that rage and push it down, to contain it so he could fit in with the rest of the crowd. But they could sense it too. It poured off his skin like sweat, it swirled in his eyes, it clicked behind his teeth when he spoke. It was a part of him and his peers zeroed in on before he could ever introduce himself.

 

Michael struggled and threw himself into his school work, trying desperately not to scream or throw a punch. He bit threw his lip and tongue trying to contain the venom he wanted to spit at all those who poked fun at him for his girlish complexion, his cheekbones, or the curl of his hair. Whistles and shouts of _pretty boy_ followed him when he walked to his classes, his major grouping him with a half dozen boys who’d seemed to make it their life mission to make him uncomfortable. They jostled him when they passed, they knocked his books from his hands, and they would pick apart anything he said in class. They weren’t smarter than him, not by far, but they were willing to be louder. Michael knew that volume equaled trouble for him and he tried to remember his parents’ threats or the way his counselor looked at him as if he were hopeless.

 

It wasn’t as if he killed small animals or anything. He _tried_ , of course, but those that weren’t too fast to catch were too adorable and whined pathetically under his hands. Chipmunks and cats, dogs – they were all too cute and he’d given up. He couldn’t even get the first steps to psychopathy right.

 

His struggle came to a peak one night when one of the guys ( _Chris_ , he donned), drunk and reckless, had chased him down on his bike. Michael had been making his way back to his dorm late after a flunked midterm. Something in his posture must have screamed _victim_ because the frat boy set upon him with a single-mindedness that was common in the inebriated. The slumped shoulders, the slow shuffle – Michael must have looked like prime meat. Chris drew in on himself as the bastard started circling him on his bike, calling him “Michaela” and making horrible jabs about “asking for it” walking around at night.

 

The bike was thrown aside and Chris stalked toward him with a cocky smirk. “You got your rape whistle, _Michaela_? Maybe a cute little pink can of pepper spray?”

 

Michael hugged himself and looked away, willing it to stop, throat full of bile and stomach churning with pure acid.

 

“Hey, faggot, look at me when I’m talking to you!”

 

Michael gasped at the word, air filling up his lungs and muscles and quickening his blood until he stood at his full height. He turned his gaze upon Chris and he felt his lips drawing back in a feral snarl. “What did you call me?”

 

“That’s all it takes to get a rise out of you? God damn,” Chris laughed loudly, leaning in and smirking as he spat out, “ _Faggot_.”

 

Michael had his hands around the other boy’s throat before he could blink, hot muscle bulging under his palms. He didn’t need to be stronger, he had a lamp post as back up. He knocked Chris’s head so hard against it that the boy’s cry came out weak, stunned by the blow. He threw the other down onto the pavement and got on top of him, grabbing a fistful of brown hair and yanking his head back.

 

“I’m not a fucking faggot.”

 

He slammed Chris’s head down on the sidewalk with a wet _smack_ that felt strangely satisfying. Michael gave pause only for a moment before he did it again, the whimper Chris let out feeling even better. Being in control of the boy’s pain, making him suffer – it was _right_. A hysteric giggle escaped him as he did it again and again, each blow becoming less dull and more yielding until Chris stopped making noise all together. Michael stopped and quieted down, frowning as he pushed on the boy’s head. There was a new give and he seemed to sink into the concrete.

 

“The fuck?” he whispered, pulling Chris’s head back to see a bloody mess that looked like hamburger meat. He released the boy and quickly got off of him, backing away as the lamp that was once his friend now illuminated his grave mistake.

 

Michael took off as fast as his feet would carry him, hot tears running down his cheeks.

 

~~

 

Michael had showered the moment he was back at the dorms, thanking whatever higher power that as listening for his parents paying for a single room with a private bathroom. They’d feared him living with someone else as a temptation to do what he had done to Chris, or at least they must have suspected. He had shut his blinds and crawled naked into his fluffy blankets, burying himself deep inside them and creating a nest of imagined safety. He couldn’t seem to stop crying as a whirlwind of thoughts tossed around in his mind. He had killed someone in a cast of streetlight on a campus that had more cameras than professors. Everyone was going to find out. They’d lock him up for life, ship him to some max security prison and throw him to the dogs. He was small, he knew that, and there was no way he could take someone in a real fight. He’d be dead before the week was up.

 

Michael cried for the loss of his own life, not Chris’s. The only thing he truly regretted was not doing it better and something about that was oddly terrifying. He tried to rustle up some remorse, some guilt, but he reluctantly admitted to himself in the shadows of his bedroom that he had enjoyed it.

 

_I should’ve watched his eyes go dark._

 

Morning came and Michael emerged with sore, puffy eyes and red cheeks. There was no squad of policemen busting down his door. No phone call, no knock. He padded around and ate breakfast and played some video games and it was like every other lonely morning. He decided that if they weren’t going to come to him then he was going out there. He went to his classes, took notes on lectures with shaky handwriting, ate lunch on the far corner of the campus, and by the time he got back to his dorm it felt like everything was the same. No hammer had dropped. His actions had been, dare he think it, _consequence-free_.

 

Had he been more careful than he thought? Had he dreamed it all?

 

The news of Chris’s death spread through the campus like wildfire by the next morning and he knew in no uncertain terms that he had murdered someone in cold blood. There was no true defense. Michael was fiery, not stupid. He knew what he’d done was wrong in the eyes of the law and nothing had gone on that could get him out of it. But his name was never mentioned among the grieving murmurs of, “He was so full of life”. Something clicked inside Michael.

 

He could get away with it.

 

~~

 

“You need something smaller than that, kid.”

 

Michael frowned at the guy behind the counter, taking his hand away from the glass case where he’d been looking at a shot gun. He’d been watching too much _Supernatural_ and had seen _Kill Bill_ too many times because he was daydreaming of sawing it off and putting rock salt in it. The guy seemed casual enough, all haggard with a pop belly, but he had a firmness in his jaw and a gleam in his eyes that whispered of companionship. That they were not so different.

 

“ ‘mere, kid,” the guy drawled. “Name’s Jed. I own this little shithole and I’ll be damned if I let you try and buy something you can’t use. You got a license? You proper age?”

 

Michael shook his head.

 

“ ‘Course not,” Jed snuffled, eyeing the boy. “You got enemies?”

 

This time he nodded.

 

“Then take a look at this.”

 

Michael stepped up to the glass counter in front of the man and was surprised when a small handgun and a box of shells was placed in front of him. “What’s this?”

 

“This is a 9mm Browning Short and point-three-eighty ACP rounds,” Jed rattled off. “This is the shit Germans used for back up in the war. It’s ideal for brats like yourself with money to burn and the need for protection. That what you need, kid? To protect yourself?”

 

Michael didn’t answer and the guy chuckled to himself.

 

“No serial numbers. No trace back here. No tattle-telling.” Jed gave him the eye. “Hundred bucks.”

 

“Fuckin’ deal, man.”

 

~~

 

Michael tilted the blinds to let the streetlamp light into his bedroom. He was on the fourth floor, no one could see him this high up. He sat on his bed in nothing but his boxers and faced the window but his attention was on the gun in his hands. He’d put a clip in it a few times to practice, reading up on gun maintenance and fiddling with the pieces to get used to it. He was quickly becoming familiar with the weight and feeling of smooth metal between his palms. It was on safety as he played with it now, holding it up in front of his face and imagining the possibilities.

 

A half-baked plan started to form in his mind of Aaron, the head asshole in that little group of guys. Chris had been small pickings, and an outerling, just a loud mouth. But Aaron had put his hands on him, shoved him around, grabbed his ass. If anyone deserved it that guy did. The only question was how, and when.

 

~

 

Unknown to him, across the street, a dark haired man adjusted a pair of binoculars to focus in on the gun in the boy’s hands.

 

“Beautiful.”

 

~~

 

Though there were some snickers a bit of harassment to get through, Michael joined the cross country team. He learned how to tone his body, how to eat right to help it along, and lost a layer of baby fat that had been sitting on his belly since he was young. He ignored everyone but the coaches, focusing on himself rather than the team. All he needed were the skills to build himself up into a well oiled machine, all else was useless detail and fell to the wayside.

 

Every mile Michael ran – every step he took – just got him that much close to Aaron.

 

~

 

Something was following him.

 

Michael wasn’t foolish enough to believe in demons or ghosts but there was definitely a shadow behind him that wasn’t his own. He felt it when he was walking between classes, getting food, or even looking out his bedroom window. He did some thinking and he decided it wasn’t repressed guilt nipping at his heels or a misplaced sense of justice trying to creep up on him.

 

He’d almost brushed off the feeling completely when he spotted something at a practice. Michael was taking the track to wind down and he was on his third lap when he had to stop and catch his breath. He stopped by his pile of stuff and fished out a water bottle, uncapping it and drinking it down sloppily to allow rivulets of water to trickle down his chin. He panted as he finally ripped his mouth away, chest cooled from the inside out but breath still haggard. He bent over, clutching his knees, and tried to calm down. The delicious burn of a good work out tingled through his calves but his heart felt like it was going to burst. The fact that he happened to look up was half a miracle.

 

The first thing he noticed was the Mercedes, sleek and black behind the fence around the track. Then the guy. Though the Texas sun beat hot down upon them all, there was a figure all in black. Dark hair, shades, a v-neck to show off a pale slice of flesh. He was leaning against the fence rather casually, watching like the proverbial creep he was being. The guy was tall and he had to be at least thirty, way too old to be lingering around a college campus. Michael didn’t have his glasses so he couldn’t see the man’s face when he took off his sunglasses but he could feel the weight of his gaze. He was watching _him_.

 

Did he know? Could he see what Michael had done as clearly displayed as the tattoos on his arms?

 

Michael grabbed his stuff as calmly as he could and cut across the track. Only when he was behind the safety of the bleachers did he hoof it back to his dorm, making better time than he had on the coach’s stopwatch.

 

Who was that guy?

 

~~

 

Mystical stalkers or no, Michael wasn’t going to let anything stop him from taking what he wanted. He daydreamed about the perfect night to put his plan into action but it fell into his lap without much effort. There was a party at Aaron’s frat house just down the road from his dorm. The night was warm and quiet besides the roar of college enjoyment, drunks staggering into the darkness as they tried to get home.

 

Michael dressed in old, dark clothes to try and blend in. He wasn’t sure why he chose a pair of clunky biker boots from an old Halloween costume but they seemed appropriate. He took the clip out of his gun before putting it in the back of his pants, the bullets staying in the dresser. He wouldn’t need to use it for any more than an intimidation tactic, not for what he had in mind. He slipped out into the night and chose a spot between his dorm and the frat house, crouching in the bushes between the campus lights and waiting. He was impatient and twitchy but he knew he had to stay, that he couldn’t get hasty or rash like last time. That was a stroke of luck that he couldn’t repeat, a risk he couldn’t take. The fear of being locked up for life and shanked in the lunch line kept him cautious despite his eagerness to give back some of the agony that Aaron had been dishing out to him.

 

It was nearly an hour before Aaron finally stumbled by and his patience was long gone. Michael felt like he was on fire when he prowled out of the bushes, taking his gun out and pointing it how they had on CSI and the way he practiced in the mirror.

 

“Aaron!”

 

The frat boy turned around and his dopey grin faded as he saw the gun. “Holy shit, Jones. What the _fuck_ man?”

 

The way Aaron’s voice went all high-pitched was like a siren call to the boy’s ears.

 

 _Pistol whip him. Just pistol whip him and walk away_ , Michael chanted to himself, the muzzle of the gun trembling. But that old, repressed rage was bubbling up. The metaphorical box he’d shut it all up in was cracking. The pure fear on Aaron’s face put a cold sweat on his skin and made his fingers shake, lips pulling in a smirk as he came up with a new plan.

 

“Go to the sidewalk and get on your knees,” Michael stated, sounding calmer than he felt.

 

“Jones, dude-”

 

“Aaron, _dude_ ,” Michael mocked, gesturing with his gun. “Walk over to the sidewalk and get on your knees. Face away from me. If you can’t do that stupidly simple task then I will shoot out your fucking knees.”

 

Aaron started whimpering, sounding just like Chris as he obeyed the younger boy’s command. A flutter of pure delight went through Michael’s heart as he watched the bully get down on his knees, trembling from his shoulders to his fingertips. It was a heady sight. The boy who had tormented him, who had pushed him to his limits, looked and sounded like nothing more than prey.

 

Michael dredged up memories of the group of boys whispering filth to him in class. “You told me once you’d like to get me into one of those parties. That I’d be fun to pass around. You used the cutest little word for it, Aaron. What was it again? Remind me bitch exactly what you were going to do.”

 

“G-Gangbang,” Aaron stuttered out. “We joked about train fucking you, but that’s all it was. Jokes!”

 

“I don’t think they’re funny.”

 

Aaron huffed to himself and the whining stopped, the older boy getting to his feet. He turned around and faced Michael with an upturned chin despite the fear that stuck in his eyes. “You don’t have the balls, bitch. I bet that gun’s not even real. How the fuck would some dumb little shit like you get ahold of the gun? I was so stupid to think you’d pull something like this. You just want to scare me.”

 

Aaron laughed in his face. “Well guess what, faggot? This isn’t like an after school special. You don’t get to run me out of town. _You’re_ the one who doesn’t belong, not me. God damn freak.”

 

Michael closed the last few steps between them and slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Aaron’s head. The frat boy fell to his knees and clutched the wound, breath coming in great gulps as the shock of pain put the horror back in him. When he managed to lift his head, the younger boy was pointing the gun at him again.

 

“Turn around,” Michael demanded, lithe chest puffing though he hardly made a sound. Aaron shook his head and whined but followed through, shuffling around on his knees until he faced away from the other. “Bend down.”

 

Aaron went stalk still. “Y-You wouldn’t…”

 

“Like I’d let my first time be with an asshat like you.”

 

Aaron chuckled under his breath, the sound desperate. “God damn virgin.”

 

Michael clicked the safety off as loud as possible and the chuckle stopped. “Bend down.”

 

He watched the older boy put his hands on the ground and bend at the waist, forehead resting on the sidewalk.

 

“Good.” The adrenaline was coursing hot through him now, sweat slicking his temples. “Now Aaron, if you don’t fucking listen to every word I’m saying, I’m going to blow your brains out, okay? No open casket for you. Your mommy won’t be able to look at her little baby’s face one last time. Don’t you want a novel ending, Aaron?”

 

The words made Aaron sob but the calm tone that laced through them kept him from bolting, from fighting. His head jerked up and down frantically in agreement, ready to do whatever it took to keep that from happening.

 

“Open your mouth.”

 

The frat boy shuddered.

 

“Aaron,” Michael sing-songed, “Open your mouth and bite down on the edge of the sidewalk. Mind your teeth, okay?” He smirked wickedly. “The last thing I would want you to do is get _hurt_.”

 

“Wh-What are you going to…to do?”

 

“Well, buddy, I’m going to shoot you in the God damn spine if you don’t put your _fucking teeth_ on the sidewalk.”

 

The quiet growl put Aaron into motion though he moved like a poorly oiled machine, shuddering all over as he gently bit the corner of the concrete. Michael enjoyed the quivering and made sure to memorize the sight as he walked up behind the frat boy, taking in every detail from the musk of the warm Texas night to the crunch of loose gravel under his shoes. One last look around showed they were out of view of the cameras and there was no one else around.

 

It was now or never and he was _so_ ready. A school year’s worth of raw hatred boiled over and a red veil fell over his eyes, primal instinct driving him to snuff out his enemy. He drove his heel down on the crown of Aaron’s head and nearly fell through it. There was a gurgled yell muffled by concrete and a heavy twitch of the body, but surprisingly little else.

 

“You can’t even suffer right, you motherfucker.” Tears of frustration built in Michael’s eyes as he stomped down again, the grind of bone on pavement meeting his ears. “You never once used my name. That was the worst fucking part of it.” _Crunch_. “My name is Michael!”

 

Hair and skull gave way. His boot got stuck above Aaron’s neck and he fell forward, staggering over the limp body before sprawling on the sidewalk. He hissed as the pavement ripped up his palms, the burn bright hot. He angrily jerked his foot out of the body with a sniffle, cradling his throbbing hands against his stomach.

 

“My name is Michael…”

 

He wiped his wet eyes on his sleeve and pulled himself together long enough to properly sit on the sidewalk. He nudged Aaron with his foot so he could see the mess he’d made of the boy. Wide, drying eyes stared at him. Everything was normal until the upper line of his lip. Beneath it was dark flesh and speckles of pearly white morals. He looked like something off of Sesame Street, jaw hanging open obscenely to reveal the pink sliver of his tongue dangling above the ‘U’ of shattered bottom teeth. Blood pooled like ink along the side of the sidewalk, oozing into the cracks and down into the gutter. His cheeks had torn under the force they curled in on themselves almost shyly. Michael leaned up and hummed as he saw the hole his boot had left in the back of the boy’s head. It was much more white and pink than the dark gunk inside his mouth.

 

There was a scratch of shoe against pavement and it wasn’t his own. Michael adjusted his glasses and looked around, heart jumping up into his throat. The night was pitch around the reach of the walkway lamps so the small red glow in the shadows stood out. His lower lip quivered and he became very aware of how much blood had spattered on his jeans. He wasn’t sure what it was at first, the word _demon_ flashing across his mind, but he figured it out quick enough when it faded and glowed like a pulse before moving.

 

A cigarette was tossed into the nearest circle of light, smoldering from a fresh drag.

 

“Fuck!” Michael scrabbled across the sidewalk to, shredding his fingers to pieces before he managed to catch his feet on the pavement and take off. He took every skill long distance had taught him and sprinted, taking a short cut across campus to avoid the main walkway. He didn't once look back. He managed to get back to his dorm and up to his room without running into anyone, drunk or otherwise. He showered and dumped all his clothes in separate black trash bags, throwing the usual college mess of pizza boxes and Coke cans on top of it all. He wished he was old enough to buy beer so he could pour it over, make it less conspicuous. He saved it all to ditch in the morning right before the truck came.

 

Once again Michael had a naked, sleepless night waiting for the cops to come. But they never did.

 

“No more,” Michael vowed to himself, staring down at his microwave breakfast burrito the next morning and frowning. “Aaron was the last one.”

 

He skipped his classes that day and spent the day barricaded in his room playing video games and eating and catching up on some reading. He pulled up his blinds and let the sunshine in, basking in the warmth of it on his floor. Michael felt like a cat curling and stretching in the patch of light while he watched some bad Netflix. He dozed off a few times and his dreams were full of Chris and Aaron learning to waltz, stepping on each other's toes.

 

Chris would laugh and complain that he was all left feet, and Aaron gurgled as his jaw flopped all over his chest.

 

It was not only a day to rest but a day to try and slowly pack all his rage back up in his chest. He wrapped invisible chains around his fists and tongue, binding himself, restraining the darkness inside of him. He'd played normal for years, he could do it again. Be the good boy his parents wanted him to be, pass all his classes, graduate, getting an Average Joe job and live out his days at a desk or in a truck until he crumpled into nothingness. The only other path for him was paved in blood. It was too close. He'd almost lost everything in the flick of a cigarette. Feeling alive and satisfied for the first time in his life wasn't worth destroying everything else.

 

Michael folded his arms on the windowsill and rested his chin on them, staring at the similar building across from his dorm with a thoughtful frown. _I'm dead either way._

 

~~

 

Professor Clark took over Deviant Behavior in the middle of the semester when their original professor finally went into labor. Professor Hommudi had been as round as a plant for months now and had been due the past two weeks. Clark was a big guy with a proud jaw and a hefty pair of shoulders that backed up his story of playing on the state football team as he got his degree in psychology. He had a booming voice to go with his calloused hands and he instantly made Michael uncomfortable.

 

Clark lingered on his name during roll and demanded that Michael move to the front of the class, giving the excuse that he thought the boy was too far away to learn properly. And that was only the beginning. As the weeks went on he realized he was being singled out and it quickly got embarrassing. He was called upon for his opinion and was prodded for answers, forced to read passages out loud and used in examples. They had two page papers due every other class and Clark started asking him to stay after class to talk about his content or the length of his paper, what was or was not appropriate.

 

At first these meetings were awkward. Clark would lean in too close, stay in his personal space, but then it got worse. He started making personal remarks. The professor would be in the middle of arguing one of Michael's points and would suddenly comment on the tightness of the boy's jeans, the cut of his shirt against his chest, even the shine of his curls.

 

“You look good today, Michael.”

 

Michael would grimace every time the professor's hand would brush against his back or shoulder. The invisible ties he'd put on all of his vengeful fingers and sharp tongue kept him from lashing out so he started to sour. He began to wear bagger clothes and beanies, covering up everything he could and sitting in the front row but closer to the wall to be out of the professor's line of sight.

 

He started having nightmares about running from a shadow and a pair of broad, greedy hands that tickled along the back of his neck and threatened to seize his ankles. These nightmares were interrupted with blissfully frustrating dreams of wrapping his hand around Clark's thick throat and squeezing until his eyes popped out of his head. Sometimes Aaron and Chris were there to help, pinning the professor for him, but other times they clawed at his face and arms until he was covered in bloody stripes.

 

Clark grabbed his ass while he was properly explaining Strain Theory and Michael started skipping class.

 

~~

 

Michael glanced at his phone for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. He sighed loudly and slumped on the table and decided to stop checking. He wasn't going to class for the second week in a row and he just had to accept that he was going to fail. His first failed class since joining the university and it was going to take a fat chunk out of his GPA. He took out his sketch book and pencil to idly scratch out something to try and take his mind off it. Clark was to blame, that fucking asshole. With his disgusting, lingering looks and his knowing grin.

 

Michael twitched in an effort to shake off the creeping thoughts. There was an image now on the rich paper. There was a face, drawn out and featureless, but with a deep frown that split open it's mouth. He thought of Aaron but this was different – close, though. The grimace gaped obscenely like it had been cut by the little dagger he'd drawn in the corner of the page. The weapon was simple and straight, nothing fancy, and he smiled at the size of it.

 

It looked as if it would fit perfectly in his palm.

 

 _'Universal frown_ ' he scrawled across the page in lazy loops.

 

“Mr. Jones?”

 

The librarian was smiling at him, waving from the end of the nearest stack. “Hello, Mrs. Miller.”

  
“Can you come help me?” the kindly old lady asked, gesturing at a high shelf. “I don't like getting on those stools and-”

 

“I've got your back,” Michael assured her, getting up and heading over to help her. It was around the back side and it took him a while to figure out what exactly she was pointing out, the older woman unsure and adjusting her glasses. “This one?”

 

“Oh thank you, Mr. Jones. I would've thrown my hip trying to get that damnedable thing. Thank you, sweetheart. You get back to your studies. You know how I hate to interrupt.”

 

“It's alright, Mrs. Miller. You know I'll volunteer to help if you need it.”

 

“You're a good boy. You nevermind these dusty books and go back to changing the world, hm?”

 

“I'll try, ma'am.”

 

Michael went back to his table and decided to gather his stuff up to leave. He took his backpack off the chair and slipped his arms through it, shifting the weight until it wasn't uncomfortable. He snatched up his sketchbook and was about to close it when he noticed his page was missing. He frowned, mouth hanging open as he tried to figure out what had happened. Had he not really drawn it? Was it on a different page? He flipped through it but it was gone.

 

Michael looked around but there was no one suspicious, no one darting out of the library or glancing his way. He shut his mouth and walked out as calmly as he could, the hair of on the back of his neck standing on in.

 

Mrs. Miller turned around in the stacks and bumped shoulders with a tall, dark haired man. She adjusted her glasses and peered up at him, her confused frown disappearing for a bright smile. “Oh, Mr. Heyman. What a pleasure to see you?”

 

“How are you, Bea?” the dark hair man greeted, holding out his hands. “Please, let me carry these for you.”

 

“How sweet,” she simpered, handing the small stack over. “How did that baked eggplant turn out, my dear?”

 

“Amazing. I don't know where your mother learned to cook but she was blessed.”

 

“Blessed with a big family and lots of hungry mouths,” Mrs. Miller laughed, leading the man to the front desk. “Remind me to give you her zucchini recipe as well.”

 

A mouth full of fine, white teeth flashed in a grin. “I _love_ zucchini.”

 

Mrs. Miller hummed happily. “How long are you here again, Mr. Heyman?”

 

“I'm only an adjunct this semester,” he replied. “Once the c-tech professor comes back from his paid leave, I'll be back in the wind.”

 

“A free spirit,” Mrs. Miller giggled behind her hand, wedding ring gleaming. “I like that in a man.”

 

“Please, Bea, you're making me blush.”

 

~~

 

Michael decided to clean up his room to burn off his nervous energy. He got kind of hot so he shed his shirt and bagged up trash in just his old sweats. Once the floor was clear he set up some _Always Sunny_ on Netflix. He pulled up the blinds and the lights from the walkway lights down below barely fought off the dark expanse of sky. He turned off the overhead light and flicked on a small table lamp. It cast the room in a golden glow.

 

Michael plopped down on his bed and stared out at the night as the show began to start. The old fear of a stalking shadow was back. Every step he took echoed. He could feel eyes on him all the time. Sometimes he'd look up and it'd be Clark waiting across the courtyard but sometimes there'd be no one. Those times were preferable. He sensed that this shadow, whether it was his imagination or someone who knew too much, didn't mean him any harm. It probably wasn't anything real and he wasn't stupid enough to consider a guardian angel.

 

He flipped open his Biology textbook and spread it out beside him with his pile of half-formed note cards. He fiddled with his blue, note-taking pen but there was no concentration to be had. He kept mulling over the fact of someone watching him. It wouldn't be with the malicious intent that Aaron's group had, or in the disgusting lust that Clark possessed. It would be sweeter, wanted. It was far-fetched and girlish, pining for a secret admirer, but he'd never had someone like him like that. He was always too weird for girls to chase after in elementary school, too busy carving paths in the gravel or trying to dig tunnels under the fence. He was lanky and into video games in middle school, hair too big and curly for him to be taken seriously. And after that he was a ball of anger management issues and frequent detentions. So the fantasy of someone taking an interest in him, bodily and intellectually, was more than desired it was _craved._

 

Michael dragged his knuckles over his nipple and the flesh tingled, hardening. He put the pen aside and stood up, stretching, the night hair make goosebumps crop up along his flesh. His pants rode low and the elastic scraped against his soft cock. He bit his lower lip as his eyes fell from the TV to the carpet, focusing on nothing in particular. He was a twenty year old college student, he should've been jerking it every night or out banging chicks. It had been a while on one and never on the second. He was usually busy or too tired or wrapped up in Resident Evil. The need wasn't often there since there wasn't a lot that got him going. The hot chicks and dudes in magazines and on TV only reminded him of the bullies and snickering girls that had followed him growing up. They were impersonal, they couldn't see him back and that one-way connection just wasn't sexy to him.

 

But the thought of eyes on him and only him had his cock stirring.

 

Michael bit his lower lip and closed his eyes as his his hand glided down his chest and over his stomach, the new tightness in his body inspiring a flicker of pride. Fingertips crept under the hem of his sweatpants and they clung to the back of his hand, dragging down as he cupped his limp dick. His fingers curled along his balls and squeezed gently, the pressure plumping up his cock. He rocked forward on his toes, hips pushing into the touch, feeling the first real twitch of blood rushing to his dick.

 

He raised his palm and licked a wet glob of spit over it before wrapping his hand around his length. He pumped softly until he grew to his full length and then tightened his grip, working himself up until he tipped his head back and moaned at the ceiling.

 

Michael kicked off his pants and sat on the edge of the bed, bracing a hand on the blankets behind him. He started breathing hard and lost himself a little as he fucked the tight circle of his fingers. Visions of bloody sidewalks and bouncing fake tits filled his mind, one winning out over the other until he could taste copper behind his teeth. He pried his eyes open and looked out the window to the dark windows at the building across the street.

 

That tingling, “being watched” feeling came back and pre-cum blurted over the head of his cock.

 

Michael laid back on the bed with a soft sigh. He propped his right foot on the edge, bending his knee, spreading out the other leg to make more room and expose himself to the empty room. He squirmed, thumb rubbing under the head to send little sparks through his limbs. He slipped his free hand between his thighs and fondled the soft, tightening skin of his balls. He rolled them, head tossing on the covers as the first curls of climax starting to tighten in his gut. Fingers ventured lower until he brushed his dry hole. He had lube somewhere by the bed but he couldn't be bothered to stop. He often indulged in some deep, slow fingering until he was a sweaty mess. A toy or two that he had squirreled away, fucking himself so hard he teared up and came over himself with barely a touch to his cock.

 

Something felt different about this time. He was warm all over and making softer sounds than he normally did, feeling the pleasure much deeper than usual. Was it he fantasy of being watched? Of putting on a show for some unnamed stalker?

 

Michael quickened his hand on his cock and rubbed two soft fingers over his hole, massaging the muscle, his rim fluttering under the stimulation. The sensation, and a couple good squeezes to his sensitive head, pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

 

~

 

Joel shifted uncomfortably in his chair, one eye closed while the other peered intently into the lip of his telescope. His cock was straining in his jeans and he quickly worked over the fly, unzipping and parting the material to give him some relief. He had his high-end telescope focused completely on the open window on the college boy's bedroom, and the scene playing inside had his full attention. Nearby, the fan stirred a pile of stuff on his desk, the creamy paper from a sketch pad fluttering on top of a marked up map, a hospital file, and a school record that read _Jones, Michael V._ on the tab.

 

Joel moaned under his breath as he dug a hand into the slit of his boxers, feeling deliciously guilty as he finally touched himself. He didn't want to reduce his beautiful, vengeful angel to a peep show but he couldn't help but feel the performance was for him.

 

Michael had spread himself out so temptingly in front of the window. Usually he only caught the boy playing video games or let himself rest his eyes on his covered, sleeping form. Miles of pale, freckled flesh laid out on the dark covers and he enjoyed every inch of it as it blushed darkly with pleasure. Though one of his legs was pushed up, hiding what Joel wanted to admire despite his gentlemanly intent, he could see the the very end and got to enjoy the blur of the boy's surprisingly strong hand working the flesh.

 

He wet his lips and squeezed himself, fighting off arousal and failing. Michael's cock was rosy pink and _so_ wet. He would do anything to be in that room, to wrap his lips around the boy's pretty cock and give him some relief, maybe rub his shoulders afterward and let him fall asleep in his lap. The young man been puttering around all day and Joel's heart ached for him.

 

“Michael Jones,” Joel sighed, looking away from his telescope to frown at the window across the street. “My poor boy.”

 

When Joel looked back into the scope he had to grip the base of his cock to keep himself in check. Michael had slipped a hand between his inviting thighs, the play of muscles in his arms revealing he was doing something he so desperately wanted to watch.

 

“That's it, baby,” Joel murmured, the vein that ran along the bottom of his cock throbbing against his palm. “Make yourself feel good.”

 

Michael's plump lips were hanging open in what had to be high sounds of pleasure, whole body moving restlessly as he humped and squirmed in a chase to the end. He was all flushed and alive. Joel longed to have the boy's skin reddened from his own mouth and teeth, to draw out sweet moans and feel his warmth first hand. But he was torn on a moral dilemma. He didn't want to treat Michael like this, he didn't want to be a creepy old man before he presented the boy with his gift. He seemed to have a hair trigger when it came to Michael. He'd given up a lot to be here right now and he deserved to indulge.

 

“Don't be mad at me, baby. You're too pretty to resist.”

 

He followed the boy's pace at first but he bit back his moans and held his breath, as if Michael could hear him and would be disturbed. It was an intoxicating show and he followed it with rapt attention. But his imagination placed him between those thighs. His fiery angel would put his tongue and cock and hands to good use. He wanted the boy to use him, and let him use him in turn. Joel's hand quickened as he thought of the boy sitting on his face, of taking the beauty over his Mercedes and fucking up into his tight body. His mouth went dry thinking of letting Michael fuck his mouth until they were both hoarse.

 

Across the street, Michael's back bowed and his arms strained between his legs, fingers pressing down hard upon sensitive flesh as his lovely cock striped creamy cum across his quivering stomach. Joel imagined he could hear his cries of ecstasy and it edged him closer to his own finish. He continued to watch, hand pumping even faster as bliss seeped into Michael's expression and body language.

 

The boy slumped and his curls danced across the blanket as he lazily lulled his head to the side. His hand was still dragging on his softening cock, milking out a few last drops of pleasure and seed. When it finally came up to rest on his chest it was stained white.

 

“I would lick you clean, gorgeous. Not a drop would go to waste,” Joel muttered to himself, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more as if he could taste the boy from here. As if reading his thoughts, Michael gave a great shiver before lifting his finger to his sinful mouth. A tongue as pink as his cock darted out and curiously curled around the tip, tasting himself.

 

Joel grunted as he came onto his jeans and dripped onto the floor between the legs of his telescope, breathless with delight at the sight. He shuddered and gripped himself tight, riding out the feeling as Michael's eyes fell closed and his soiled hand dropped onto his stomach, body truly going bonelessly as he slowly slipped into a doze.

 

He continued to watch, smiling softly as a new tenderness filled his heart. Michael looked truly relaxed for the first time since he'd watch him examine his second kill. The boy had been clumsy, more like a child stomping on beetles than anything, but the true spirit of the hunt was there. He was fresh, young, and he could be taught. His potential could be realized. Joel hadn't meant to scare Michael so much. He'd been trying to make his move, but the boy was skittish and he would need a more direct approach if he was going to woo him.

 

Gazing at him now, Joel wanted to be in that room again. He would get a warm, wet rag and clean the boy's limp cock and stomach and teasingly brush against his hole. He would kiss up the inside of Michael's thighs and whisper love into his skin, show him what it was like to be taken care of by someone who accepted him for everything he was. He'd stroke his cheeks, his hair, kiss him lightly and urge him to sleep. His hands itched with the need to tuck the other in, stuff a pillow under his weary head, get him more comfortable. And shut the damn blinds. He didn't like the thought of his boy exposed like this, bare body on display, but that was Michael's choice and he couldn't be angry.

 

Joel cleaned himself up and stretched his legs, rolling his shoulders to get the stiffness out of them. He couldn't keep a vigil on his angel tonight. He had a plan to put into motion and there wasn't a lot of time left here in Austin. He'd seen the cops starting to sniff around, could feel it like they were snuffling in his hair. Michael's victims had caused quite a stir. Two high class, attractive young boys with promising futures ending up murdered on their campus? It would only take one more victim before the entire campus was shut down.

 

There was a choice to be made, and only Michael could do it. He could either accept Joel's offer and let him fix everything, keep them both safe. Or he could let the disaster he'd made collapse down on his pretty little head.

 

Joel rubbed at his chest, huffing as he thought of Michael getting caught. He wouldn't last long in prison. The poor thing would lose everything. Joel had been looking for a partner for so long that if this boy got away he wasn't sure what he'd do with himself.

 

“I'll kill myself if we can't be together.” Joel snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, that'll win his heart. Way to be over-dramatic, Heyman.”

 

~

 

Michael looked out the window and sighed heavily, blushing more in embarrassment than pleasure. It was like being in middle school again waiting to be asked to a dance. There was no one outside his window or anywhere else that wanted him. Not his family, not a mysterious admirer – not anyone.

 

He was a lonely kid with homicidal tendencies jerking off in his bedroom and he would just have to accept it.

 

~~

 

Michael ran the last few feet to his dorm room and slammed the door behind him, slapping his back against it and sliding down to sit on the floor. A strangled sob escaped him and he grabbed the edges of his beanie, pulling it down to cover his wet eyes. He drew his knees up and buried his head between them, trying to make himself as small as possible as he heaved for breath. He wasn't sure if he was having a panic attack or a reality check but he was sobbing.

 

Cops. Not campus walk-arounds but real policemen with _very_ real guns. They were patrolling the campus, forensics teams already having come and gone with baggies of evidence. They were asking more questions, talking to classrooms and encouraging them to give up any names on Aaron and Chris's enemies. He heard two cops talking about working on getting search warrants for the room. There was nothing incriminating in Michael's room but what if there _was_? Had he left his DNA at the scenes? Could the cops get samples from him if they had a warrant?

 

Michael choked, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping into his lap, soaking into his hat.

 

“I-I'm so fu- _cked_ ,” he hiccuped.

 

~~

 

Two days went by and though the cops didn't leave the campus they didn't seem any closer to solving the murders. They spoke of suspicious circumstances, of tampered evidence. The APD seemed intent on weaving a conspiracy theories but they had very little to go on. Night fell on the second night and there were a few lingering patrolmen along with campus police walking along the sidewalks.

 

Michael tossed his head back and moaned shamelessly, nose scrunched up and mouth falling open as he pressed his fingers right on his sweet spot. He had used nearly half a bottle just so he could shove two fingers inside himself as quickly as possible, craving girth and stretch. When he fingered himself it was usually a slow, languid affair but he was craving some roughness tonight. Something was restless inside him and he was trying to fuck it out. His biggest toy rested on the mattress beside him and he wanted to get on it the moment he thought he wouldn't tear himself.

 

A cramp went through his thigh. Michael pulled his fingers out and sat down on the edge of the bed, hissing as he rubbed his thumbs into the bunched muscles in his thigh. It took a while to massage out and his cock wilted from the faint pain. He got up and walked the rest of it off, puffing the whorls of his bangs out of his eyes.

 

Then he noticed the note.

 

It was nicely folded and had obviously been slid under his door though he wasn't sure when. He frowned deeply and plucked it up off the floor. Sweat and lube cooled on his skin as he unfolded it, reading quickly and growing angrier with each word.

 

_Jones,_

_I know you want it. Why don't you man up and come take it?_

_Meet me in the staff parking garage._

_-C_

 

The paper crumbled loudly under his shaking fingers before they clawed and ripped it to pieces. He glared at nothing, the shaking going all the way up his arms and down into his heart. The imaginary restraints he'd put on his rage burst all at once. It was like falling apart and being reborn all at once, his very ribs trembling.

 

Michael quickly pulled on his clothes, going dark, and slipped his feet into a ragged pair of sneakers. He yanked open the bottom drawer of his dresser and pulled out his gun, checking it over before grabbing a clip. He slapped it in and flipped on the safety, imagining Clark's smug face when he saw the nine millimeter pointing at him. He wasn't going to let that asshole terrorize him like all those bullies before. He'd sworn _never again_ but that promise was cast aside under the blind rage inspired by Clark's proposition. He double-checked the safety before sliding it into the back of his jeans. His belt was tight enough to hold it and he didn't need to be packing heat all over campus. The faculty parking garage was almost on the other side of the campus as the student dorms.

 

He had plenty of time to figure out a plan. And if he was already doomed, so be it.

  
The law could only kill him once.

 

~

 

Michael jumped the electronic block that kept cars from filing in and out unattended. There was no guard to man it, everything run by machine, but the cameras kept watch. The middle floors were well-lit but it was all for sure. Maintenance got lax on the upper floors and the basement. It was four floors in all and reserved for staff and special events, leaving the students scrambling for parking spots in the lots. He went to the stairs and debated between the upper floors and the basement. He started to go up but he spotted rust spots on the lower set of steps.

 

No. Not rust.

 

Michael knelt down, wet his thumb, and wiped it across the spot. It looked red on his skin and when he sniffed it he smelled iron, but different. He wet his lips, eyes going hooded. _Blood._ He decided the basement was best and headed down to follow the spots. When he got to the bottom floor he found it a fourth full with the lights on every other row blacked out. It was dark enough to inspire fear in the boy but not enough to deter him. He whipped out his gun and steadied his grip, eyes darting around the room and down at the floor to follow the trail. Had Clark nicked himself on something? Enough _CSI_ told him the streak of the blots meant the man was moving quickly as he bled.

 

There were two sections of the garage blocked off by a half wall, and the drop led around to the second half. Michael went up and put his back to the concrete, taking a few quiet breaths before whipping around the corner and aiming. “Clark!”

 

Michael had barely got the name out before he gasped, nose filling with the rich scent of freshly spilled blood. He struggled to figure out what he was seeing. There were two men in front of Clark's heavy-duty truck. One was sitting up against it arms limp and legs sprawled. The second man was blocking the first from view, kneeling down between the sprawled legs like he was praying at a human alter. Wild, dark hair and baggy clothing.

 

And there was blood everywhere.

 

The second man shifted and got on one knee, turning around to see who had come. Michael saw the fine, polished knife before he spotted what it had done. The first man was surely Clark but he was no threat to the living any longer. Torturous crimson slices decorated the professor's body at painful angles over joints, soft tissue, and the swell of muscle. Though Clark's eyes weren't plucked out there was a slash across them, slicing up the jelly and causing mushy rivulets of blood to ooze down his cheeks like sloppy tears. His mouth was stretched open wide and carved at the corners, flesh split on each side of his chin and carving deep paths down to his Adam's apple. It was familiar.

 

“I know it's not the same.”

 

Michael jumped when the dark haired man spoke. That youthful, happy voice shouldn't come out of a blood covered man who looked to be pushing thirty. He had a strong jaw and a sparse beard, hardly there at all. Laugh lines crinkled at the corner of his eyes as nice lips gave way to strong, white teeth in a joyful smile. Though he looked as if he could blend into a crowd he had a handsome face.

 

“I went off your drawing, your idea, but it didn't quite transfer.” The man was tripping over himself in his eager apology. He looked back at the corpse and frowned. “I suppose I'm too old to capture that wild, heated spirit. Passion is for the youth. My work is usually more meticulous. I apologize. I tried to get as close as possible.”

 

“I know you,” Michael frowned, brows pinching up. “You're the c-tech adjunct. You dropped all your folders and stuff in front of the class. They make fun of you.”

 

The man laughed but there was no malice in it. “A bumbling teacher is the least suspect, don't you think? Rowling logic and all.”

 

Michael tightened his grip on his gun. “You have five seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on and who you are.”

 

“I'm Joel.” The man got to his feet, uselessly wiping his hands off on his jeans. “And you're Michael Jones.”

 

The man breathed his name like it was his favorite book title, his favorite lyric, the name of his hipster screenplay. It was said like a thing of beauty and with such _affection_ it stole the breath out of the boy's lungs. No one had ever said his name like that, like it was a thing to be savored and that it meant more than just a name tag.

 

“How do you know who I am?” he demanded.

 

“I know a lot of stuff about you,” Joel stated, tossing the knife aside on the corpse before shoving his hands into his back pockets. “I know that you're an amazing writer and your professor thinks you're better at math than your scores show.”

 

Michael's lips pursed.

 

Joel's mouth curled in a scowl. “I know your dad broke your arm when you were fourteen. Your parents told the doctor you got into a fight at school, your brothers told the nurse you were horsing around with them, but you said you fell out of a tree. Conflicting stories along with all your dad's recommendations to have you committed for on-sight therapy...it's obvious.”

 

“Step-dad,” Michael grit out.

 

He nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

 

Michael shifted his grip on the gun, palms sweaty. “What else do you know, _professor?_ ”

 

“I know you killed Aaron Marquiz and Chris Demarais,” Joel drawled, lashes low as a smirk twisted his lips. “And I know you liked it.”

 

“You don't know shit, old man!” Michael barked, stomach bottoming out. “Who the fuck are you really?!”

 

“You're a smart boy, Michael. You bagged your clothes and dumped them the day the garbage men came. I think you can figure out who I am.”

 

“You're the guy from the track,” Michael realized, brow furrowed and heart jumping up into his threat. “And you were there with Aaron? You were the person watching. And...”

 

Joel's smile caught him off guard and he felt his cheeks heat up in a blush.

 

“And you've been watching me on campus, and through my window.” He gaped. “The building across from mine has staff apartments, doesn't it?”

 

“It does,” Joel admitted. “Don't be upset, Michael. I started out with good intent, to watch over you, but I couldn't help myself the other night. You were so beautiful.”

 

“Fuck,” Michael breathed out, hear fluttering in his chest.

 

“I hope you can forgive me,” Joel pleaded with a pout. “I shouldn't have watched. I understand it's hard to find peace of mind and I didn't mean to intrude.”

 

Michael felt like he was about to assure the guy and he swallowed down any stupid words he would regret. “You don't understand jack-shit about me or anything I've done.”

 

“I don't understand?” The man's voice went flat, all playfulness gone as his gaze hardened. Michael shuddered under the weight and the muzzle bobbed as the adrenaline threatened to make his fingers clumsy. “Who do you think took the tapes from the security room and burned them so the police didn't swarm on you that first night?”

 

The gun dropped down, the boy looking at him with slack-jawed surprise.

 

“I worked two months on my hunt for this city and I gave it all up the night you killed Demarais. I sacrificed my satisfaction and gave you yours.” Joel gestured at the carved corpse behind him. “I risked my real identity to take your file and the security tapes and I blew one of my newest ID's to get into the hospital to transfer your records. I learned everything about you so I could do this.”

 

“Why?” he rasped out.

 

“Oh Michael,” Joel sighed wearily, a tired smile wiping out the cold expression that had taken over his handsome face. “I did it to prove that we're alike. That you aren't alone.”

 

Michael shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be real. He must have passed out back in his room or was stroking out. This was too much and he wasn't sure what to do. Clark was murdered, that was his objective for coming here and it was done. “I'm out of here.”

 

He turned around and flipped his safety back on, ready to go around the corner and leave.

 

“Heading back to your normal life?”

 

Michael tripped over his shoes and braced a hand on the wall to stop himself from sprawling.

 

“I've watched you try and lock yourself up and you're miserable, Michael,” Joel lamented, shoes slapping in drying blood. “You've tasted that sweet release. You turned the valve! I've seen that delicious rage of yours and you can't just bottle something like that back up. Tell me the smell of his blood doesn't make your mouth water?”

 

Michael shook his head and tried to take a few more steps, to leave, but it was like dragging his feet through mud.

 

“It will kill you if you go back and deny who you are,” Joel stated grimly. “One way or another. It's tough to handle on your own. You're strong, anyone can see that. The fact that you've held out this long is astounding. But this need will eat you alive and the police love to crucify troubled kids.” He took a step closer, Michael winced and drew in on himself. “They love to shove them into hospitals with drugs that will numb your soul and bury you away in the system when you don't 'respond to treatment'.”

 

Joel kicked Clark's leg, scoffing loudly. “I would rather kill a hundred assholes like him than stand by and let them smother your fire with their normalcy.”

 

“Why?” Michael demanded, whirling around and raising up the gun again, voice starting to waver as he thought of truth in the man's words. “Wh-What do you want with me?”

 

“I have an offer for you. Some alternative choices.”

 

Michael didn't move, didn't respond, and the man seemed to take this as permission to continue.

 

“Let me help you,” Joel appealed. “Once they find Clark they will tear through this place. I can keep you safe from that. Once you're in the clear I can teach you everything I know and give you some proper tools to channel yourself to keep this from happening again.”

 

“I don't need your help,” Michael countered hotly.

 

“Oh don't you?” Joel tisked sharply. “I don't want to leave but I will. You can start running from the police now and you'll never stop. It won't be the fun chase I offer. It'll be a manhunt. You're smart, Michael, but impulsive. I would bet money that you'd go south, slice half a dozen throats before you even saw the border. They's snatch you up with the illegals and you'd fight, because that's who you are, and you'd lose.”

 

Joel rubbed at the aching spot over his heart. “You'd be gone within the week. I don't know what I'd do after I read the paper with your name...I would never forgive myself for letting you run off. I would think of you every day.”

 

Michael was both touched and enraged. He surged at the man and kept his gun gun up as he kicked out his legs. Joel grunted but went down easily to his knees, briefly closing his eyes as the cold muzzle of the Browning pressed up against his temple. It felt too easy, like he'd been allowed to. “And if I fucking kill you right now? What then? Where does that fit into your fucking plan?”

 

“Go ahead, baby,” Joel sighed dreamily, grabbing Michael's wrist lightly and thumbing at the sensitive inside of his wrist. “If you want to go it alone I'm your best bet. A little digging and they'll unearth all my skeletons. I've killed a lot of people, it'll only make sense. You'll be off the hook and you can do whatever you want.”

 

Michael panted lightly as his heart fluttered madly in his chest, letting the older man's words sink in. “You would let me...?”

 

“It would be an honor to be killed by someone like you,” Joel assured him with a bright smile, pulling the boy's hand down and kissing the back of it. The muzzle rested against his chin. “A new generation, I guess.”

 

“Joel.”

 

“I'm okay with it if I know you're safe,” Joel promised him, dark eyes full of adoration. “I know we've only met in my dreams but I feel so close to you. If it'd be anyone, Michael, it'd be you. Just promise to be careful. And make it look like a suicide.”

Joel's eyes fell closed and he pressed his lips to the end of the gun.

 

Michael tossed away the gun and dropped into the man's lap, lacing his fingers in dark hair and dragging him into a kiss. It was his first – sloppy, wet, and perfect. “You protected me,” he huffed against Joel's lips. “No one's ever protected me before. No one's ever – fucking hell, no one's ever given a shit about me.”

 

“You're so special, Michael, so special...”

 

“You want me,” Michael whined, eyes clenched shut.

 

“Michael, baby,” Joel purred, petting through his short curls, “I love you.”

 

Their second kiss was hungrier, all teeth and grasping fingers as Michael straddled his lap properly. It was everything he'd daydreamed about. Touching another person, feeling their heat and the slickness of their tongue...now he knew why there were hundreds of cheesy romance paperbacks covering bookstore shelves. He felt light and fluid, like his body was truly alive. The closest feeling that came to this was stealing Chris and Aaron's lives. _I love you_ rang through his head and mixed with the smell of tacky blood and it all went straight to his dick.

 

“Help me?”

 

“Always.”

 

Michael pulled away and caught a glimpse of Clark's mutilated face. He soaked in every detail. The wide, dead gaze and the sunken skin along the slices that made up the frown. It was just like his sketch. “Clark, you sick fuck.”

 

“Look your fill, baby, it's all for you,” Joel urged, rubbing the boy's back as he had the purest moment of joy he'd ever experienced. “I knew you wanted him gone so he's a gift. To show that we're the same and you're not alone or as different as you thought you were.”

 

“Best gift ever,” Michael growled. He shifted and felt the slickness between his cheeks, hole bearing down around nothing. He was smacked in the face with the memory of jerking off in front of the window and desperately wishing someone who loved him was out there, willing to watch and help and be with him for more than his looks and could look past his murderous quirks. His cock filled up quick and made his jeans tight.

 

“Fuck me,” Michael demanded suddenly, shock dancing over Joel's face. “You don't want to?”

 

“God yes I do,” Joel flushed up, nuzzling the boy's throat and kissing it with devotion. “Pretty please with sugar on top. I can't believe you'd want me to but I'm not going to lie, I've been thinking about it.”

 

“Cheater,” Michael smirked, embracing the situation for what it was and feeling safe under the man's gentle hands and loving gaze, “I've been thinking about it too, you know. But you had to be a sneaky motherfucker.”

 

“Would you have listened if I'd approached you that first night?”

 

Michael laughed, a carefree sound that didn't belong next to a dead body. “Yeah, guess you're right. Still – watching me through my window? You dirty old man.”

 

It was Joel's turn to laugh but it cut off when the boy pushed another inexperienced kiss across his lips. Though there was little skill there was enough enthusiasm to make up for it.

 

“You should fuck me right here next to him.” Michael's breath came in pants as he imagined it, pupils blown, hips rocking of their own accord. He could almost feel the cooling blood soaking into his shirt, could imagine it smearing in his hair and across his cheeks as Joel fucked him for the first time in his life. He laid his hand in the stiff puddle, surface breaking like paint to smear his palm and soak into the pads of his fingers. He raised it between them, smirking as he clenched his fist and felt the _squish_ between his fingers. “Fuck me with it, Joel. God, I want to feel it _everywhere._ ”

 

“You filthy boy,” Joel moaned, big hands curving over the younger man's ass to give it a good squeeze. “There's no way I'm letting one drop of that bastard's blood inside your sweet ass. That's reserved just for me.”

 

“But-”

 

“I'm not going to risk you.” He brushed his lips across Michael's, silencing the start of his whine. “Not when I just got you.”

 

Michael pouted but burst into a grin when Joel started to stand. He wrapped his legs and arms around the man he suddenly trusted and marveled at his strength as he was carried backward to the nearest pillar and pushed against it. The concrete was cold on his back but he didn't mind with Joel's warm chest pressed up against his and their lips slotting together. He followed the older man's lead and kissed slower than before. He got a hum and another squeeze as a reward.

 

“You learn quick,” Joel pointed out cheekily. “Have you ever done this before?”

 

“I've never even kissed someone,” Michael admitted. “I've never wanted to before.”

 

Joel lit up at this. “I'll teach you.”

 

“Show me,” Michael demanded, fisting his hands in the man's hoodie. “Show me everything.”

 

Joel was a talker and he loved it since his babbling was focused on how much he loved Michael and why. He helped Michael work off his pants and praised his passion, the way he loved his little giggle when he started smashing Chris's head, and the righteous fury he showed when he stomped in Aaron's head.

  
“That voice you used when you ordered him around,” Joel gushed, fumbling over his belt and fly like a teenager, “When you told him to bite the curb I wanted to come out and force him on his knees, make him obey you.”

 

They chuckled in high voices as the adrenaline and rush of endorphins and blood to their cocks made them giddy. Michael's jeans and underwear were in a wrinkled pile beside them and Joel's were only pulled down enough to show off the tops of his firm, pale thighs and everything above. The boy clung to him, burying his face in his neck, nerves starting to get to him as they were both bared from the waist down. The older was sweet about it, petting along his back and kissing his warm ears.

 

“Can I see you, Michael?”

 

The words were whispered in his ears, Joel's tone sweet as candy and calming his flutters. He kept his eyes between Joel's eyes and dick, not wanting to look at either quite yet. He rested comfortably against the pillar, hands curled around the man's forearms like an anchor. He could feel the dark gaze burning over him. It was the same sensation that had been following him around since Chris's death. He was elated to know it was just Joel watching out for him rather than a manifestation of his own guilt. Long fingers skipped up his chest and took his shirt with it, the material rucking up below his neck and armpits and held there to show off the rest of him. He blushed and trembled but he enjoyed the attention. He'd just never had someone look at him like this. He'd never shown someone himself without the armor and protection of his clothes.

 

“Gorgeous,” Joel sighed shakily, cock visibly twitching and straining to almost touch his stomach. Michael was covered in freckles. It was a detail he couldn't pick up through his telescope and he loved the surprise. His cheek bones were almost artistically carved and led to a lush, bee-stung mouth. His eyes were dark, so fierce a moment ago but now glistening like the gaze of a doe. The boy's lightly furred thighs were spread wide over his lap and he got to see the tight curve of his dark sack and the curve of his cock, dark pink head wet from youthful excitement. The reddish brown curls above his cock faded into a faint treasure trail and his chest was smooth. Those almost girlish nipples called to Joel's mouth, perking up in the cold air and the same color as his cock.

 

 _My little virgin boy._ He felt a thrill go through him to know that he had the honor of being Michael's first. He wanted to say 'first and only' but he didn't want to scare the boy.

 

Joel leaned in and lapped at one, eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as Michael released the sweetest little sigh. “T-That feels good.”

 

“Does it?” Joel teased lightly, mouthing at one nip while he caught the other between the 'v' of his fingers. The pressure had Michael arching his chest into the sensation, a stronger moan leaving him. “There we go. Let yourself enjoy it.”

 

Michael finally lowered his gaze and bit his lip when he saw the other man's cock. It was the first he'd seen besides his own, what he glanced at in the locker room, and saw in porn. It was so real, familiar and yet not. Red and thicker than his own, longer too, and cut to show off the plump head. He swallowed heavily before he reached out and wrapped his fingers around it, awing silently about how hot it was. Joel hissed and softly rocked up into the touch.

 

“Your hands are so soft,” Joel praised. “But I can feel you shaking, baby. You want to stop? We can take care of this guy and get out of here. I could take care of you on a bed like you deserve.”

 

Michael steeled his nerves and drew his hand back. “No. I want it now, right here.”

 

“Okay, baby, whatever you want.”

 

The endearment had been unsettling at first but now it settled like a warm drink in his belly, making him smile. Michael ran his hands up Joel's clothed chest and settled on his shoulders, his nerves slowly disappearing as he felt big hands caress over the curves of his ass. He grinned when the older man gasped.

 

“What were you doing, I wonder?” Joel's white teeth flashed in the haphazard light, fingers tracing over the boy's rim. “You're sloppy.”

 

Michael kissed him and bit down hard on his lower lip. “Shut up. I was having some fun before I noticed that asshole slipped a note under my door.”

 

A brief, sharp sound escaped Joel. Michael saw the flicker of irritation on the man's face and hatched a horrible idea.

 

“Clark was such a bastard,” Michael drawled casually, rubbing his cock against the man's shirt for friction. “The last time I was in class he grabbed my ass so hard I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

 

Joel groped him by the back of the thighs and pulled him up, the head of his cock kissing the boy's wet hole. “Do you need stretched, baby? Or should I crack you open?”

 

“Just do it.”

 

Dark brows furrowed. “Shit, I didn't bring anything. I didn't think we'd do this. You're slicked up, baby, but protection...”

 

Michael laid his fingers along the man's throat, squeezing lightly. “If you give me anything...I'll kill you.”

 

They laughed, foreheads pressed together as they reveled in the joke that was so close to the truth. They moved as one, both nervous for different reasons but brimming over with anticipation and pure need. Neither had ever felt so close to true completion.

 

Michael started babbling to distract himself from the burn as the man started to slip inside him, the contact hot and stinging. It faded into something more pleasant but it was a slow process. Joel was gentle despite the way the boy riled him up.

 

“I know what he wanted,” Michael panted loudly, thighs twitching as his body flexed around the man's cock. “The way he looked at me in class – he wanted to bend me over his desk in front of everyone and fuck me. He would tell me how pretty I was all the time. When he talked to me I could see his hands hovering behind me like he wanted to pet my hair. He'd tell me how nice my hair looked, how he could see my nipples through my shirt during lecture and that I should wear clothes that show off my – fucking _shit_ , Joel.”

 

The stretch of the flesh inside him was about the same as his favorite toy and he felt himself open up almost obediently. The older man was growling against his pulse and rocking up _hard_ , grinding his cock as deep as it could.

 

“He wanted to bounce me on his cock. Just...like...” Michael used the man's shoulders to pick himself up, dropping back down with a high moan. “ _This_.”

 

He looked into Joel's face and everything he'd ever wanted was written there. The fire in the man's dark eyes was the same fire Michael had seen and felt in his own. The heat of overboiling rage, the need to take a life to satisfy their own, the overbearing need to spill blood until their lungs were saturated with the smell of it. They truly were the same in every way. A match made in hell, soulmates, or whatever else those young adult novels called it. The man that was muttering possessive nonsense into his neck was the shadow had been following him, the guardian angel he'd never dared to hope for, the secret admirer he'd fantasized about – Joel just as much his everything as the man declared Michael to be for him.

 

Joel was thrusting hard and deep, barely moving the boy, his pretty thighs fitting so neatly in his lap. He didn't want to go to rough on his little killer but the intoxicating wet warmth of his body demanded more. He wanted to brand Michael from the inside out. He finished a dark mark on milky flesh and looked down to see that lovely little pink cock only half hard, still shining at the tip.

 

“Michael.” Joel nudged the boy's head up off his shoulder and kissed him softly, frowning. “Baby, if you want to stop, we can. Am I hurting you?”

 

“No,” Michael swore, huffing when the man rested inside him, “Don't fucking stop. I...I might not get off but I want to feel it.”

 

“Are you sure?” he puzzled uncertainly.

 

“Gotta pop my cherry sometime, yeah? Why not now?” He pulled Joel closer by the hair, brushing their lips. “I want to feel you come inside me and it better fucking happen soon because we have work to do.”

 

Joel gasped loudly, fingers clawing into the boy's fleshy thighs. “I'll get you later, baby, I swear.”

 

“You fucking better.”

 

Michael wrapped his arms around Joel's shoulders and let the man's hands guide his hips, sighing every time he felt his cock grinding against his insides or his prostate was grazed. He didn't need to get off right now. He just wanted to get fucked good and hard, get seared with cum and limp his way out of here. Every bounce jolted him, an ache deep in his gut from getting fucked, balls feeling tight from the hints of pleasure. Tears filled his eyes and a few slipped but he moaned in satisfaction, the fullness too much and not enough and filling up places he didn't know were empty.

 

Michael's eyes were firmly on Clark's wide, blank ones. He smirked, the intensity of the other killer's movement drawing another trickle of tears past his light lashes. He let Joel kiss and bite at his neck to his heart's content, the sweat between their bodies making each thrust easier.

 

He never looked away, not once.

 

~

 

Joel hid him in the shadows of the maintenance building, kissing him soundly and making him promising to stay still. He was back within ten minutes wielding several tapes. They cut across the campus in the blind spots of the remaining cameras and made it through the student dorm building without running into anyone. The door to Michael's room was firmly locked and they took turns taking showers, the younger going first. All their clothes were shoved into several different trash bags and that they would dispose of later.

 

Joel was quick to shower. When he came out Michael was standing by the bed in just his towel, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight to ease the ache in his ass. The older man came up and rubbed his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck as he eased the tension out of his boy.

 

“Let me kiss it better.”

 

Michael was urged onto his belly upon his bed, blushing when he saw the toy and the half full bottle of lube from earlier. His spare pillow was shoved under his hips and he legs were gentled apart, warm kisses dropped all over his thighs and ass until he stopped squirming and let the other do whatever he wanted. Michael's mewling filled the room as he learned what the man's tongue could really do. It did sooth the burn around his rim and he rutted into the pillow, getting off on the feeling and the realization he had a stranger who was capable of murder in his bed and licking happily at his used hole.

 

They fell asleep in Michael's too small bed, naked and shamelessly cuddling.

 

~

 

“Come with me.”

 

They were sitting on his bed, face to face, legs tangled and Joel's long fingers cradling his face while their noses brushed.

 

“I know it's a lot to ask,” Joel whispered in the grey of the early morning. “You'd have to drop out of school and never talk to your family again. It won't be easy but I'd always make sure you were comfortable. I would take care of you, give you what you need. A warm bed, a full belly, and enough blood to keep you sated.”

 

Michael shivered. “What do you mean?”

 

“I'll teach you how to hunt one way or another. I want you safe.” Joel's kiss was a bare buss across his lips, a ghost. “But we could hunt _together_. I've got it down to a science, Michael, we could get away with it, I know we could.”

 

Cool thumbs brushed under the boy's eyes, tracing the swell of his cheeks.

 

“I've been looking for someone like you for years.”

 

“You proposition a lot of angry college students?” Michael teased.

 

“Not one single boy,” Joel promised. “You're the first, Michael, and the only. I'm twice your age but I think you're it for me, kid.”

 

Michael kissed him slow and sweet and Joel sighed sadly, soaking up the sensation as it would be their last. His heart grew heavy and he let his hands drop down to the boy's lap, caressing his nice thighs and memorizing the taste of his plump lips. Michael pulled away and he wanted to scream _no, please, I want more time_ but he didn't. Instead he bit his lip and got ready to hear the “it's not you, it's me” speech.

 

The boy kissed the shell of his ear and his nose brushed through dark hair.

 

“Give me ten minutes to pack and let's get the fuck out of here.”

 

* * *

 

**Whew. That was a big one. Nearly 30 pages for my favorite little rarepair. I planned on doing another merGav chapter but this beast took over. I hope you guys enjoyed some regular, non-Omegaverse stuff. I sure did.**

 

 

 


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